Unusual
by TiggitNeko
Summary: A collection of short musings on Germany and Russia, just a taster at the moment, only two, but i would happily take on suggestions from you guys... Germany turned to Russia and raised an eyebrow. Ivan smirked, and buried his face in his scarf to hide his giggles. "Heh…Comrade, when Russia wants revenge, probability has NOTHING to do with it."
1. Chapter 1

**Voice**

Ludwig loved Ivan's voice. A little known fact about the Russian was that he often hummed to himself in meetings, behind his scarf, copying things he had heard on the radio or making up his own tunes as he went along. The blonde had felt a swell of pride in his chest when he recognized Rammstein, a band of his own country, to be among Ivan's favourite sources.

Another thing he loved was the way his voice would change drastically when the tall nation muttered to himself in his mother tongue, going from sweet, childlike, and distinctly _creepy_ to rich and deep and so utterly masculine that it almost made the German's knees tremble.

Of course, Ivan's little Russian musings were _nothing_ compared to the way he would whisper his lover's name in the middle of the night after a strenuous session of hot, sweaty physical _activities._

**Probability**

"You know, ze probability of zat actually _hitting_ him is incredibly small."

Russia looked up from his project at the sound of Ludwig's voice, only to immediately look down again at the complicated paper aeroplane he was making, smoothing down another razor crease with his forefinger.

"Nyet, Ludwig. This is revenge…" he gestured to the crumpled ball of paper that had smacked him in the temple just a few minutes ago. He was in no doubt as to who had thrown it…the paper was covered in hamburger grease, and there was a pretty obvious Coca-Cola stain splattered across the projectile.

"And when Russia wants revenge…I get my revenge…"

Finally happy with the origami plane (It looked suspiciously like a Sukhoi Su-34), Ivan grinned up at Ludwig, with mischief glinting in his violet eyes, and with an expert flick of the wrist that was born of waaay too many boring meetings, the aircraft soared across the table in a graceful arc, before crashing spectacularly into America's nose and getting stuck under the bridge of his glasses.

"NYEH?! What the FUDGE?!"

As America shot out of his seat and shook his head, frantically trying to dislodge the aeroplane (and looking ridiculous in the process) Germany turned to Russia and raised an eyebrow.

Ivan smirked, and buried his face in his scarf to hide his giggles.

"Heh…Comrade, when Russia wants revenge, probability has NOTHING to do with

it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Music**

Some things, Arthur pondered, were just not meant to be understood.

He stood still for a few moments longer, sipping his tea slowly (Earl Grey, of course) and drank in the scene being played out before him. A cell phone lay on the table, blasting out some kind of metal music, and around it stood three nations, all viciously head banging.

Arthur was a little worried that they would get brain damage of some sort…surely it wasn't healthy to slam your brain around in your head quite so enthusiastically?

Prussia, Germany and Russia seemed completely unconcerned about this fact, and even added stomping in time to the music to their odd, completely spontaneous dance routine.

"_Heirate Mich! Hey-! Hey-! Hey-!"_

The words were in German, and England had to ask himself why Russia seemed to know them off by heart as the trio continued with the chorus (loudly).

But hey, Prussia and Russia weren't at each other's throats for now, so maybe it was a good thing? Who would have guessed that it would be mutual love of Rammstein that brought the two nations closer?

Shaking his head fondly, England began to walk away, heading for the door. Just before he left, however, he hesitated, turning back to glance again at the three.

A slow smile spread across his face as he reached for his phone with his free hand (the one that wasn't holding tea). It wasn't often that one saw Ludwig acting so…_youthfully_. A few pictures and a video wouldn't hurt anybody…

Besides, he thought with a smirk. It was just too cute to miss.

**Cute**

Smiling to himself in the dim light of the bedroom, Russia couldn't help but notice how sweet Germany looked when he slept.

His lips were parted slightly, and loose strands of hair fell over his face, rebelling against the meticulous styling that it had undergone the previous day.

The German was pressed snug against Ivan's body, resting his head on the chest of the taller nation.

Of course, being as he was a closet lover of all things cute (and Ludwig definitely fit into that category), Ivan couldn't resist the overwhelming urge to reach out and tickle the blonde's regal nose, just to see it scrunch up in that way he found utterly adorable.


	3. Chapter 3

"What do we do?"

* * *

Ivan didn't hear _(couldn't hear) _the harsh stage whispers of the other nations around him.  
There was nothing of reality in this thick fog that he was so lost in. And why would they reach him? Voices meant little to him now. Century upon century had taught him that voices where little more than grating annoyances. They were to be ignored.

"_Just ignore their lies. That is all that voices speak, Ivan. That is all that they are."_

So he ignored them. Didn't things used to be different? Was there once a time when a voice was a thing of beauty?

He didn't twitch, or move a single muscle in time to the stuck record that spun in his mind, skipping and jumping at an uneven, unpredictable pace, a sound track of gurgling screams and the dark, rich _(beautiful)_ splash of blood against stone and metal against flesh. Yes…no…was this the beauty of the voice? Surely there was nothing on earth as exquisite as a scream. Brittle with pain and thick with tears…_that_ was the only way that a voice was to be tolerated.

* * *

"Like, what just happened? He was totally fine like two seconds ago, seriously-"

* * *

A cacophony (_symphony)_ of the most delicate choking sobs rose slowly to a crescendo, inhuman and gut wrenching in its agony and passion as phantom sounds and memories veiled him with darkness and contrary, stabbing light. Like blinding snow, dotted with blooms of _perfect_ red.

_Is this wrong? What has been done… then why does it look so magnificent?_

* * *

On the outside, Russia looked blank. He stood silently in the spot that he had frozen in when the memories had flooded back. He would later say that he wasn't sure what had set off his temporary lapse into what he could only describe as a waking nightmare. It could have been a scent that reminded him a little too much of a young girl he once knew, or simply a harmless phrase from another nation that he had heard before could have summoned the demons of his long _(torturous) _past.

He simply stood there, staring ahead while mist swirled in his eyes and gun smoke billowed in his brain, with his jaw clenched and his shoulders tense, his back straight as a ramrod. At attention in imaginary ranks.

_Ranks that were tossed and flung like flimsy cloth dummies by hot lead and the copper tinted rush of death. Cold, but __**oh **__so hot; searing, burning, roasting alive as fires raged and people screamed._

_He wished he could be this warm forever._

* * *

"Ludwig."

…

"Ludwig, what do you do when he gets…like this? Is there anything?"

A softly asked question _(how gentlemanly,) _and a softly spoken reply.

"Ve dance."

* * *

Something pierced through the wall of sound. Everything was muffled, as though heard through water, but even with the distortion of the skipping-record beat, Ivan heard a new addition to the symphony.

In the middle of this haze of gunshots and screams and cries of horror _(what have you done? What have you __**done?**__)_ as he stood alone on a deserted street, stained with snow and war, something reached him.

The screams were fading a little, he noticed, as though into the distance. He cocked his head.

A tune was playing.

* * *

Ludwig took Russia's hands in his own as the first sharp, clear keys of Roderich's Waltz sang in the air and the silence. Encircled by the countries of the world, he took the lead, using his strength to force the larger nation to move, rather than stand like an ice sculpture. He was surprised as after a few moments, he met no resistance.

Trained to the action and recognising the steps, Ivan's feet obediently followed the rhythm that Ludwig set. His head was at a slight angle, inclined to his right.

He was listening.

The soft, time-worn leather of his heeled boots scuffed against the carpet gently as the mist in his eyes thinned. Looking up, Germany watched, captivated, as they gradually began to regain their amethyst shine. He felt as though he were looking into Ivan's soul. This idea would have usually made him uncomfortable, but at this moment, he accepted what he saw, and danced.

* * *

_Had it always been this quiet?_ There was no sound, save for the gentle tune that was gradually becoming louder. _A Waltz. _The Piano was easily recognisable now that it wasn't layered with the sounds of Hell.

There was no cold, and no burning heat. Only a gentle warmth, and someone else's gentle breath against his cheek.

* * *

When he felt Russia's hands grip his tightly, Germany sighed in relief. He had broken through.

Ivan blinked to clear the last of the haze from his eyes as he held tightly to Ludwig, taking confident steps and twirling his partner theatrically as he smiled down at the blonde haired nation. He had control now, not the misty remnants of his past, and for that he was grateful.

Leaning in, he placed his lips close to Ludwig's ear as the music ended (Austria had a good sense of timing, so it seemed).

"Thank you." He whispered, taking his hands from Ludwig's and missing the contact only for a moment before he pulled the German close in a tight embrace, burying his face in his neck.

With one arm around his shoulders and the other threaded into his silvery hair, Ludwig pressed his cheek against Ivan's. Raising his eyes for a moment, he noticed that the room was almost empty but for a few nations. The others had left out of respect for the two, sensing that it was a private moment.

Stroking his hair, Ludwig copied Ivan's action and turned his head, bringing his lips close to Russia's ear.

His breathy whisper was so quiet that even being so close, Ivan barely heard the words that were spoken. But hear them he did.

"_Ich Leibe Dich."_

As the first tear fell and soaked into Germany's suit jacket, Russia felt a lightness that he hadn't thought he ever would again, and his heart felt warm again for the first time in centuries.

_Not all voices are deceptions, and not all words are lies.  
And I can love. And be loved. And __**this**__ is my reality._


End file.
